


Blood-Debt

by DoctorChimera



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Romulan Way - Diane Duane
Genre: Bondage, Cuntboy, F/M, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Spanking, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 17:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorChimera/pseuds/DoctorChimera
Summary: What may have happened if H'daen tr'Khellian had sold McCoy to Sub-Commander tr'Annhwi after all.





	1. Mnhei-sahe

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published Trek fic. It's basically a self-indulgent smut fantasy that reads a lot more poorly than the source material that it's based on, but hey, I tried. So go easy on me, okay?
> 
> Disclaimer: Aside from themes such as rape and abuse, this story contains elements of a male with female genitalia. If that's not your thing, then - needless to say - I strongly advise you not to read. If you do happen to enjoy it, however, please let me know.

 

Once again, Arrhae had found herself torn between duty and conscience.

 

When H'daen had returned to McCoy's cell with tra'Annhwi at his side, the greedy look on the sub-commanders face had told her all that she needed to know.

 

To her panic, that was the last time she had seen McCoy, as he was ushered away almost instantly. For the rest of the day she would be haunted by the look of hopelessness and fear in his eyes. And if she didn't do something quickly, a day would become a lifetime.

 

And so once again she sought audience with her Head of House, knowing perfectly well how much she was putting at risk. Knowing that such defiant behavior would be a violation of  _mnhei'sahe_ .

 

"No more than allowing him to get away with it would be," she told herself. And so, steeling herself, she confronted Lord tr'Khellian and told him exactly what she thought of his decision.

 

"You thought you could purchase honor by signing away an innocent man's blood, but in the end you came away empty-handed!" she shouted, no longer able to hold back the tears that had threatened to overcome her from the moment Dr. McCoy had been hauled away from the last place where he still had a chance to escape his own death.

 

To her surprise, however, instead of responding to her unsolicited complaints with anger, H'daen's demeanor had softened with remorse.

 

"You're right, Arrhae. A terrible thing has happened, and it was both shameful and cowardly for me to allow it. However, there is no point in arguing anymore. The transaction has been completed, and cannot be revoked."

 

"You may as well have just thrown me in as well!" Arrhae cried in exasperation.

 

"Would that have made you happy?" he asked her.

 

"It matters not," she shook her head. "But at least then I'd have the comfort of knowing that maybe I could do something for Mak'khoi."

 

"Even if he was still under my custody, there is nothing I could do to prevent the prisoner Mak'khoi's inevitable execution in one form or another," tr'Khellian reminded her. "However,  _accidents_ happen all the time, and sometimes escapes must be accounted for." She thought she could detect a sly glimmer in his eyes as he said this. 

 

"My Lord...?" Arrhae's heart filled with hope at these words.

 

"There is no guarantee that tr'Annhwi will let you back into his good graces now that you have already turned him down, even if you were to join him against your will."

 

"I'm sure he'd prefer it that way, actually," said Arrhae, eliciting a nod of understanding from tr'Khellian.

 

"Then, if you know what you're doing, I will gladly do this for you. It's the least I can do to atone for this most grievous error."

 

"My lord!" exclaimed Arrhae, welling with affection for her master. Suppressing a very un-Rihansu impulse to throw her arms around him and kiss his cheek, she settled for bowing graciously instead. "I will restore honor to House tr'Khellian tenfold. You have my word."

 

H'daen placed his hands on her shoulders. "You have served me well,  _hru'hfe_ . It will not be easy to find another Head of Household to live up to your standards. It is my sincerest hope that you will return again one day, but whether fate allows it or not ... may the Elements ensure your success and safety."

 


	2. Preparations

McCoy sat in his new cell, awaiting — but trying not to ponder — whatever grim fate was in store for him now that he was at the tender mercies of the cruel Sub-commander Maiek tr'Annhwi.

 

He didn't have long to wait, however, as not long after he was admitted to the prison was he again escorted from his cell to another larger room adorned with all the comforts of a torture chamber.

 

Because that's exactly what it was.

 

The guards shackled his wrists to the chains that hung from the ceiling and simply left him there. He slumped down against the wall with nothing to do but sit against the wall and pray. Barely five minutes had passed, however, when the door opened to admit his captor.

 

And that girl behind him — was that Arrhae? McCoy could hardly believe his eyes. It certainly was Arrhae, but what was she doing here? He could worry about that later, perhaps. For now, he was just happy to see a familiar face. He flashed an unrequited smile in her direction.

 

"Greetings, Mak'khoi," the Romulan addressed. "I trust you are already well-acquainted with Arrhae ir'Mnaeha, yes? Then you might be surprised to see her here. Well, as it turns out, she is no longer welcome in House tr'Khellian due to unfit behavior; as such, she is now part of House Annhwi. But more importantly, I wouldn't want her to miss out on assisting me with the task of breaking in our little pet," he turned to Arrhae. "Isn't that right, dear?"

 

She said nothing, but cast a sympathetic glance at McCoy, who raised an inquiring eyebrow.

 

"Come," he took her by the hand and led her to his new prisoner. "I wish to show you how carefully he was prepared upon his arrival. On your feet!" he ordered the doctor.

 

It was difficult, but McCoy managed to stand up without the use of his arms. The struggle was due to the fact that he was still out of shape from all the rich food and little exercise aboard the Vega. That, and to his credit, he was fifty years old now — not exactly a spring chicken anymore. 

 

There was a simultaneous gasp from both McCoy and Arrhae as — without warning — tr'Annhwi grasped the grey prisoner tunic from the bottom and hiked it up to McCoy's chin, fully exposing his torso. With the exception of a ragged pair of undergarments as grey as his tunic, he was wearing no other clothes underneath, as he was given none.

 

Arrhae had no choice but to comply as tr'Annhwi gently took her hand and placed it on McCoy's chest, running it downward to his abdomen. "Delightful, isn't it?" he asked, as she wondered why — for a Terran male who was nearly as hirsute as a typical Rihanha — his skin felt so silky.

 

tr'Annhwi went on to explain the special grooming process he had reserved for McCoy, performed by a small group of servants. First, he had been stripped and thoroughly bathed. Next — with the exception of his scalp — he was lathered and shaved from head to toe. And finally, a coating of moisturizer was applied to every inch of his depilated skin.

 

"Tell me, Mak'khoi," tr'Annhwi sneered, stroking along the triceps of one suspended arm. "How did it feel to have your already-vulnerable Terran body completely denuded and stripped of its only defense? To be divested of such a prime feature of your masculinity? To have razors pointed at all of your most delicate areas?"

 

_Poor Mak'khoi_ , sympathized Arrhae.  _I can tell he's frightened, but to be so humiliated on top of that...?_

 

"It wasn't half bad, actually," McCoy shrugged calmly. "In fact, most Terrans would pay top dollar to be pampered like that."

 

Arrhae flinched as tr'Annhwi angrily slapped him across the face. "So you enjoyed it, did you? Is that what you think — that you're some kind of guest, here to indulge in luxury?"

 

"Of course not," he replied. "It's obvious why you had me peeled like a potato and buttered like a damned biscuit." He paused to savor the confused look on the Sub-Commander's face as he knew that the translator device would be unable to make sense of the food nouns he had just used; only Arrhae would be able to understand this particular Federation colloquialism. "Because if I'm good and soft, then I'll be more receptive to pain, isn't that it? But if you think you've taken away my dignity, then you're sadly mistaken."

 

"Is that so, Doctor? Then I'll consider it an enjoyable challenge — experimenting with ways to render your pride as afflicted as your body will be. In fact, why don't we begin right now?" he turned to and pointed at the wall opposite of where they were standing, on which hung a rack with assorted implements. "Arrhae, the whip, please."

 

Arrhae hesitated a moment, looking from the helpless man before her to the leather whip hanging on the wall and back to her new master, who held his hand out expectantly. She picked it up and examined it for a moment, trying to judge how much damage it might be capable of.

 

_You beast!_ she snarled internally, fighting the urge to turn around and use it on the sub-commander himself. Finally, with great anguish, she handed the whip over to tr'Annhwi.

 

 


	3. Reprieve

 

There was nothing else for McCoy to do but try and sleep, but the pain in his legs and backside kept him wide awake and unable to lie comfortably in his bed.

 

Of course, it wasn't just the pain that prevented him from sleeping, but the burning shame he had suffered at the sub-commander's hands.

 

It wasn't as though this was the first time he had been held captive by alien prisoners, or even flogged by them. But to suddenly — and rather savagely — have his underpants quite literally torn away in the middle of a beating and get spanked until tears were spilled was well beyond his expectations. To him, it reeked of an indecency that crossed well beyond the limits of corporal punishment — and into the realm of pure sexual sadism.

 

His suspicions were confirmed as soon as his punishment ended and tr'Annhwi had stood in front of his captive's bent-over frame to savor his tears and belittle him further. That was when McCoy had noticed that there was a darkened patch of wetness on the front of tr'Annhwi's trousers. It had filled him with immediate disgust, and for the remainder of the day he had been overcome with a feeling of uncleanliness that no bath — no matter how thorough — could ever wash away.

 

And what's worse, poor Arrhae was forced to stand there and watch. She would cry out along with him, as each lash brought with it grunts of pain that grew louder and more agonized. At some point she had even started to plead with tr'Annhwi to stop, but he had made it very clear that McCoy must be the one to do the begging instead.

 

Despite swearing otherwise, McCoy had eventually reached his limits — sooner, rather than later — and was forced to yield. And so, with great difficulty, he had uttered a pained growl of beseechment, which tr'Annhwi only accepted once it was repeated with the addition of the word "master".

 

The word was as bitter on his lips as it was sweet to tr'Annhwi's ears.

 

The sudden sound of footsteps outside his door was almost enough to send him rolling off of his cot in alarm. He quickly propped himself up on his elbow and prepared himself.

 

"Terese!" he breathed as the Romulan girl entered his cell. Was it his imagination, or was there a subtle limp to her step?

 

"You shouldn't be using that name!" she scolded in a low whisper. "The both of us are in enough trouble as it is. You know, I almost think you deserved that whipping!"

 

"Well, gosh. I'm glad to see you too, Arrhae."

 

"I'm sorry, Bones. I should not have said such a thing," she apologized, sitting at the foot of the bed. "It's just that you're the most stubborn man I've ever met! I warned you many times that something like this would happen, didn't I? And here you are, making things worse for yourself by turning something like torture into a game of pride! _Feanna_!"

 

McCoy smiled ruefully. "Wouldn't that make you the bigger _feanna_ for following me? And just what are you doing here anyway? Don't tell me tr'Khellian sold you too?"

 

"I don't expect you to forgive Lord tr'Khellian's actions, but pay no mind to what tr'Annhwi said earlier. The truth is that I made my own arrangements to come here for your sake. So please, Doctor, don't make things any harder than they already are."

 

McCoy felt guilty. Why did Arrhae suddenly go and risk her life for his sake? It was supposed to be the other way around, wasn't it?

 

"Don't you worry about me, kid," he tried to reassure her. "I grew up in the south, remember? I can handle a whipping just fine."

 

Arrhae grasped one of his hands into her own and gazed into his eyes with intense concern. "It's going to get much worse than that, I'm afraid," she explained, looking around the room nervously, as if someone might be listening. "He spoke of employing the traditional Rihannsu method of electrical shock torture. He planned to have a chip surgically implanted in your brain! It was all I could do to convince him not to go through with it, although he still intends to go through with a milder — albeit still painful — alternative."

 

McCoy's eyes widened briefly. Arrhae had just saved him from having his recording implant destroyed by electrical currents, or worse — discovered and compromised. And that wasn't the worst that could happen either.

 

"I told him it would be too easy to kill you accidentally," she continued. "You see, although I'm certain he wants you dead, he doesn't want it to happen too quickly. He gets more enjoyment out of your suffering if you're kept alive."

 

"So I've noticed," grumbled McCoy, recalling the wet spot with a shudder.

 

"Oh, I've almost forgotten the reason why I came here!" Arrhae fished around in one of the pockets of her dress and pulled out a small lidded jar, which she handed to McCoy.

 

"What is it?" he asked, unscrewing the lid and sniffing the contents. The substance resembled petroleum jelly and gave off a cooling scent which his olfactory system could only compare to menthol.

 

"For your _hiakhifv_ ," said Arrhae. "It will help with the pain."

 

"Thanks," he said, inspecting it some more. "Uh, this is safe for humans, right?"

 

"I've used it before. Make of that as you will."

 

"Good enough for me," he shrugged.

 

"Here," she offered, taking the jar back from him and clearing her throat a bit awkwardly, "Allow me."

 

"What?" McCoy had not expected this. "Oh no, there's no need to —" he started, but she didn't let him finish.

 

"Please, " she implored. "It's the least I can do, and it would help both of us sleep better tonight."

 

"Well now," he replied, "I'd hardly consider it proper behavior for a Southern gentleman to bare his bottom in the presence of a lady, but considering the circumstances ..."

 

"Unfortunately, it's a bit too late to be concerned about such matters," reasoned Arrhae. "Besides, even doctors need care sometimes too."

 

She helped position the man over her lap and carefully applied the unguent to his fresh, just-barely-beginning-to-fade welts that ranged from the middle of his back down to his thighs. After eight years of being accustomed to green blood, the pink color of his lacerations appeared rather strange to her at first.

 

Meanwhile, McCoy tried to relax and give in to the soothing effect of the medicine. Arrhae's touch was as gentle as tr'Annhwi's was cruel. And that was exactly what kept him on edge.

 

"Suppose our new friend were to walk in on us?" McCoy said in a cautious whisper.

 

"Not likely," Arrhae assured, "tr'Annhwi is fast asleep now, and he'll stay that way for a while. Let's just say he's worn out from all the enjoyment he had at your expense."

 

McCoy grumbled a curse under his breath. He then suddenly remembered Arrhae's gait, however, and a knot tightened in his stomach. "Wait a minute. Don't tell me he ..."

 

"As you saw for yourself, he was very excited," she said flatly. "I had little choice but to ... relieve him."

 

"I'm sorry," McCoy sympathized. "Are you all right?"

 

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't painful," she admitted. "I'm ashamed to say it but, even though I'll soon be approaching my thirtieth year, I've never been with a man before — Romulan or Terran."

 

There was a dull _thump_ as McCoy pounded his fist on the bed.

 

"Goddamnit!" he barked.

 

"Oh, Bones ..."

 

"If I ever get my hands on that bastard ...!"

 

"I'm all right," she sniffled, helping him off of her lap so that he was able to sit beside her. "Really I am. Losing my _maehan_ is nothing compared to the suffering he's been subjecting you to, and it is a small price to pay in exchange for keeping you alive."

 

"Bullshit," he argued. "It wasn't fair to punish you because of me, and I'll make damn sure he pays for it!"

 

"It wasn't your fault. He's just a very sick, twisted excuse for a man," she told him, pocketing the jar and retrieving a pair of underpants, which she tossed to McCoy. "Here. For your modesty. Enjoy it while you can."

 

"Thanks," he said, pulling them on gratefully. "It feels awfully drafty without a pair of drawers ... What?"

 

Arrhae must have caught a glimpse of him, because she was staring at his crotch with look of utter bewilderment.

 

"Oh ... _that_ ," he replied, indicating his lap, which was mysteriously free of a bulge. "Well, you see, Arrhae ... Turns out being born on Earth isn't the only thing you and I have in common."

 


End file.
